Tommy

It was a cold and quite an unwelcoming winter evening. The plants were drooping, turning whiter and not a single songbird could be seen. The clouds were moving over my head, as gray as a wizard’s beard covered with smoke. The ground below me was bare, no leaves, no plants, no flowers. It trembled as I took a step forward. Standing in solitude, in this enormous, barren field, there was nothing but a lonesome cottage blocking my sight.

My mind, filled with some kind of purpose, I trudged along the snow, my cane wobbling, yet sturdy enough to keep me on my feet. I walked past the almost frozen lake and watched as what was left of it, the ice devoured. Taking a few more large steps, the harsh December wind almost blowing my beanie off of my clean-shaven head, I was now less than a few meters away from the stained pewter walls of that cottage.

Making myself comfortable outside the back window of this tiny cabin, I took a deep breath and exhaled on the glass, creating a void of moisture, deep enough to cover one’s face. I trembled and hands shivering, I wrote on that cloud of moisture, slowly, but neatly, and read it before the wind took it away, ‘nostalgia’ it said.

I glanced, from the window at the rug covering almost three fourths of the tiny cottage, the fireplace, fire a-glaze, lighting up the room, the clock on the wall, which always pointed to three o’clock and the sturdy wooden table, stacked up against the wall, with a coffee, a newspaper and a scone, neatly arranged on it.

Tears, rolling down my cheeks, I carefully wiped them away with my scarf. I exhaled yet again, this time, feeling the chill as it ran through the veins on my hand. The chilly feeling ran haphazardly, all the way down to my spine, causing a slight tingle. Just as it moved up my neck and made its way to my skull, it was interrupted by a voice.

A hoarse and very manly voice, though I could hear the creaks in it. Astonished, I looked through the window, only to see a hunchback, rippled with wrinkles on his face, countable strands of hair on his head, and what was left of his hear, were standing up on his arms. Wearing a plaid flannel shirt, torn at the top, beneath which were scars, three of them, almost like gunshot wounds, to be precise. He wore a pair of black trousers and a pair of comfy sneakers and struggling to catch his breath, he mumbled, “Tommy, uh, come here! Let us go out today. It seems as right a time as any to, uh, build a snowman, eh?”.

Listening to him struggle to complete just a single sentence, I felt bad for the man, who knew what hardships he must’ve faced. Wiping the moist window with my pink washcloth, I kept glaring, mouth wide open, for what I saw next, bewildered me. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Wobbling along on two extremely tiny limbs, toy car in hand, wearing a light blue torso nothing below it and small shoes which squeaked as his feet touched the wooden floor, I saw Tommy. I saw him running to his grandpa, falling over but getting up, and at it again.

Into the trembling arms of the old man he went with a shriek of joy. As the man lifted Tommy up with all his might, he gave Tommy a small kiss on his cheek and then almost willingly, put him down. Engulfing Tommy’s miniature hands into his own, the old man slowly, using the wall as a medium of support, shuffled across the hallway, until they reached the door. Tommy, as excited as he was, couldn’t wait to go outside and ran back inside to wear his thick red winter coat. “Let’s go grandpa, let’s go!”, he shouted, overwhelmed. That sentence really planted itself in my mind.

The grandfather slowly turned the doorknob clockwise, then the other way around until it finally opened, and a chilly breeze blew inside the small house, blanketing the fire that kept the cottage alive. All that stood between them and the never-ending carpet of snow were three, wobbly wooden steps.

I watched now, more anxiously then ever. Shivering, trembling almost, I watched as the both of them stood there silently, Tommy’s excitedness disappearing. As the grandfather held on to the railing with one hand, held Tommy with the other and took his first step, I reminisced. About chilly Christmas eves when mum would wrap me in a blanket and sing to me, when dad would watch the Warriors play NBA finals and cheer them on constantly, however badly they played, when grandpa would tell me stories of his time, when there were no phones, no internet and just interactions and when Tommy would fall asleep in my arms, cuddled up, looking like a tiny, adorable snowflake.

As the grandfather now moved on to the second step, with Tommy more delirious than ever, I did too. I reflected on all those nights I had been away, on all those evenings I hadn’t been there to wish them goodnight, on all those days I had let the phone ring, not bothered to see who it was, until I did, and rushed back home, only to find it circled in yellow tape, Tommy’s grandfather, right behind me, weeping. Or so I thought.

The grandfather, ever so slowly, now moved on to the third step, his hands trembling, both with cold and with fear. Tommy jumped nonchalantly, tugging his grandfather down that second step to the penultimate step. As he kept his week food somewhat steadily onto the third step, I thought back. To all those nights spent in my dimly lit studio, alone. To all those letters written, yet never sent. To all those made-up confrontations that I seemed to have. To all those encounters I dreamt of. But now, they weren’t just some regular dream. No, they were reality.

The wind was getting harsher, so was the weather. The solemn branches, forlorn by the colorful leaves, were something I could relate to. They stood as silently and were as unnoticed as I was. Looking at the sky up above my head, I watched as the young Sun gave way to the moon, white as milk. Hearing a scream of sorts, my attention diverted to the old man and Tommy, who, in lieu of admiring the scenic beauty of these trees and the wintery season, I had dutifully forgotten about.

I changed the course of my vision, this time to the square-shaped window, which had been my telescope for so long. I noticed that they were now at the third step and the grandfather, panting as heavily as a dog after its morning run, mustered up his courage and decided to take that final step. The step that would be the pathway to freedom for him, and fun and frolic for Tommy.

As I put my hands in the front pockets of my sweater, right around the time when the both of them took that final step, something different happened. I didn’t reminisce as I always did, like how I had been doing for the past three steps. Instead, I stood silently and watched. And my mind, that had been going back to the past, didn’t go that way this time. It didn’t wander of track and reminisce. Instead, it kept calm and directed my eyes to this wonderful scene, an old, hunchback holding hands with a young chirpy boy, climbing down the stairs, going into the snow. It seemed magical to look at from this angle and I felt blessed to be a part of this.

However, once they took that final step, as their legs made an imprint on the plain, white snow, it had all changed. It was no more the way it was. Looking back at that incident today, I can only hope to forget the dreadful aftermath of descending down those wooden steps. For the grandfather’s courage and bravery that had taken him this far in life, for ninety-one years, was no more. Little Tommy’s excitement and his joy was no more. Everything was starting to disappear, one by one.

Terrified, because I couldn’t see them anymore, I rushed down to the front of the house, looking for Tommy and the old grandfather, but what I sought was definitely not what I found. What I saw, was horrendous. Indescribable. Looking down in both disgust, and agony, my tears dropped down to into the snow and dissolved.

Dissolved, not in the snow, but in something else. The same place where the grandfather’s courage and Tommy’s excitement dissolved. As I looked down, at the snow, not so white anymore, I found the grandfather’s bravery and young Tommy’s not in their bodies this time, but in a pool of red, that had now dyed the snow into a shade of vermillion. Distraught, I looked around. There must be some logical explanation to this. Something to give me solace.

And it was almost coincidentally that at the exact same time, I heard a few footsteps. I rushed into the small cottage, pulled open a few drawers and found an old hunting rifle. I looked around some more and found myself a handy flashlight. I was all set now. I opened the door and tried to take a look outside, but I could see nothing. It was pitch dark. I waved my flashlight around and made myself clear. “Who’s outside? Who dared to ruin their perfectly normal lives? Why?”, I asked enraged, tears falling out simultaneously.

“It is I”, said a very deep voice. I pointed my flashlight to the whereabouts of this voice and sure enough, there it was. A tall, hooded figure covered with a blue cloak; I was astonished. “Who was this person?”, I thought to myself. I had to get to the bottom of this. Rifle in one hand, torch in the other, I shined light on the area I heard the voice from and off I went. Chasing something that probably was a figment of my imagination. Or maybe not. Who knew?

I did. And in my eyes, he was the devil. Nobody in their right mind would’ve wanted to ruin the wonderful and peaceful life that the both of them lived. They harmed nobody. Not a single being. And yet, this was their fate? To fall prey to probably an unstable person. To not have a chance to even bid their loved ones adieu. To not know that I was out there, waiting for them, and all I wanted was a chance to meet them. I was shattered

Frustrated. Running as fast as I could, I knew he was out there. I could hear him treading on the snow, and my flashlight followed him, wherever he went. I thought I had caught up to him when the sound was getting louder, but maybe it was the echo. Maybe he was far away, and I could only hear an echo.

But I was desperate. And I couldn’t give up. Not this close to uncovering who it was. I mustered up my last ounce of courage and ran as fast as I could, almost catching up to him. It was a matter of a few meters, that’s all. The trees had surrounded us, and from the mystic moor where that tiny cottage lay, we were deep inside the forest now, on the outskirts of town.

“Wait up!”, I screamed loudly. The man stopped. I was determined to find out who he was. Catching my breath, I trudged over to him, slowly but fiercely. When I about inches away from him, he let out a deep exhale, I felt the frost hit my face. I was terrified, but equally determined. Standing face to face with him, I asked frightened yet bravely “Pull up your hood. Take off your cloak and show me who you really are.”

“Do you really wish to see who I am?”, he asked me persuasively. “Of course. Show me!” I told him aggressively. He nodded his head. Slowly but steadily, he bowed his head down and then thrusted it back. The hood fell back, and his identity wasn’t a mystery anymore. I could finally get to the bottom of this.

However, once the hood fell back, there was nobody there. I tried to touch and feel the face of this figure, but my efforts went in vain. I then, heard a voice. It said, slowly, in an agonizing voice, “I am you. I am what you think of me. I am your past present and future. I do what you tell me to. Now fight me. Chase me. Kill me.”

I was astounded. Fearfully, I started retreating and tried to make my way outside the forest. The hooded figure though, got the better of me. It held my throat and lifted me up. I pleaded to let me go. The figure wouldn’t budge. Soon, I started seeing multiple figures coming towards me. The figure dropped onto the hard, forest floor. I was petrified. I tried crawling my was back and fending these demons off with a few branches.

Those futile attempts though, were blocked by these predators and I was in a state of confusion. I kept shouting and pleading for help, but nobody came. I started seeing visions of the old grandfather and Tommy walking together and in the amidst those thoughts, I was being gruesomely attacked by these vicious monsters.

After tearing me to shreds, and my life was literally hanging by a thread, they left me alone. The numerous predators converged into just two. I was confused yet again. I couldn’t decipher what these devils were up to. I tried running away but they ran after me. They chased me all the way back to the house until I locked the door shut. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I was convinced that they wouldn’t enter the house. Just to strengthen my estimation, I pushed the table against the door. I sat down, on the old, dusty sofa and sighed, relieved. All of a sudden though, I hear this voice. “Let’s go grandpa, let’s go!”, it said. I had heard it before, it sounded so familiar. But I was terrified. I couldn’t open the door. Not now. Not that I knew who was outside. But then I heard a knock. And accompanying the knock, I heard the grandfather’s voice.

“Is anybody in there?”, he asked. He continued, “We had gone out to get some bandages for my grandson, he had fallen down the stairs.” “This explains the blood”, I thought to myself, and I opened the door just enough to see who it was. Sure enough, it was the grandpa, with Tommy next to him. I let them in, and we indulged in some friendly chit-chat. Just as I was about to leave though, the grandpa said, “Sir, it is getting quite late. Why don’t I make an arrangement for your slumber? What about your grave?”.

Right then I knew this was a mistake. I tried pushing the grandfather away, but they started transforming into those hooded maniacs. I tried running away yet again but they were close in pursuit. Soon, they caught up to me and stood over me as I looked up at the dark, night sky. What followed next was tragic. It was inhumane.

After the encounter, I was too tired to even move a muscle. My limbs were staring to disappear, but I couldn’t do anything about that. I was helpless. Before whatever scare amount of life, I had left inside of me escaped, I wanted one final glance as to who those perpetrators were. With a tremendous amount of effort, I turned my head around and was now lying flat on my stomach.

I could see, very blurrily, that those two demons transformed yet again, back to the old grandfather and Tommy. And just as I closed my eyes, I saw them holding hands, walking joyfully back home, up those three very steps I had seen them descend. They shut the door, and everything was dark now. I couldn’t see anything, nor could I hear. Slowly, after a few hours, I was covered in snow. All my traces erased. But my mind, it’s traces couldn’t never be erased. For it was always thinking about the lonesome cottage in the barren field, with three steps to descend and the innumerable memories filled inside of it. It was always thinking. Reflecting. Reminiscing.